30

I’m not ready.
But this is the end.
I won’t take it.
Goodbye, my friend.

— Llama Parade

I DIDN’T GO FIND ZION THE NEXT day at lunch. I was so angry with him for telling Lando about my Great Humiliation. It made it worse—like I was reliving the whole thing. The thought that it had anything at all to do with Lando quitting football made it so much worse.

I went to the library during lunch that day. I sat at a table alone and wished Connor were there with me. I felt more alone than I had on that day last year when I’d first met him. I looked around but no one was in there but the librarian.

I wanted to scream when I saw Joshua on my way to the bus that afternoon. He should have been the one off the football team. Not Lando. Instead of screaming, I ran away when I saw him. Josephine was right. Zion was right. Henry was right. I was a big chicken. I’d become scared of everything.

After the bus dropped me off, I walked through Stagecoach Pass. The crowds were picking up, and a handful of people walked the streets. I couldn’t deal with their stares today. I ran up the steps of the soda shop to see how Henry was doing.

Henry wasn’t behind the counter, though. “Henry?” I called to the back. But he didn’t come out. I walked around to the back of the counter.

And there was Henry, lying on the floor, face down. I rushed to him and knelt down. “Henry!” I cried, but he didn’t move. I jumped up and looked at the phone on the wall of the soda shop—it was one of those old-fashioned kinds. I had no idea how to use it, nor did I think I would be capable of doing so even if I did know how.

I dropped my bag to the floor and struggled to get the strap off from around my neck as it caught in my hair. I pulled and pulled, tears blurring my vision. I finally managed to get it off, kicked my flip-flops off, and threw myself down on my butt. I started digging around in my bag with my feet. I couldn’t find my phone. This was taking too long. I couldn’t find my stupid phone with my stupid feet. I turned the bag over and shook it with my feet to empty it. Henry might die because I couldn’t get to my phone fast enough.

I finally found my phone, but my stupid fat toe was shaking as I tried to dial, and I kept hitting the wrong buttons. “Stupid,” I muttered through clenched teeth, tears falling onto the screen. “Stupid . . . stupid . . . stupid no arms!” I cried as I jumped back up to my feet. I ran to the doors and slammed through them with my side. “I need help!”

Mom and Dad sat in the maroon chairs of the hospital waiting room while I paced across the gray linoleum floor. “Honey,” Mom said, “why don’t you sit down?”

But I couldn’t sit down. I felt like I could run and run for miles and still not relieve the tension in my body.

Dad stood up and put a hand to my back. “It’s okay, Aven.” He wrapped his arm around me and squeezed me tightly to his chest.

“Where is he?” a frantic voice called. I rubbed my eyes against Dad’s shirt then looked up at Josephine. “Where’s Henry?”

“He’s getting an MRI right now,” Dad said as he ran a hand down my hair. “They think it was a stroke.”

Josephine’s hands shot to her mouth. “Oh, no.”

“It’s a good thing Aven found him when she did,” Dad said. “The doctor said every second counts.” Dad smiled down at me. “He might not even be alive right now if it weren’t for her.”

Dad’s words should have made me feel good, but nothing could cut through my worry. Not just my worry that Henry would die, but my fear that he would die without ever having known where he really came from. I didn’t know why it had become so important to me that he know. Maybe it was because I knew what it felt like to wonder where you’d come from and why your parents had given you away. To wonder if they regretted doing so. To wonder if they’d ever loved you at all. To wonder if he even knew I existed.

My mind wandered to the Find My Family box still sitting on my desk just as the doctor walked into the waiting room. Mom shot up from her seat. “How is he?” she asked.

The doctor smiled warmly at us. “He’s doing well,” she said. “He did have a minor stroke, but we already had him on IV blood thinners to dissolve the clot in anticipation of that finding. He also has a fairly large bump on his head from where he must have hit it on the floor, so we’re keeping a close eye on that as well.”

“What about brain damage?” Josephine asked.

“It’s a little early to tell,” the doctor said. “We’ll know more when he wakes up, when we see whether he’s talking and how much he understands. But like I said, it was a minor stroke. The clot was fairly small, so we have high hopes.” She looked down at me. “You’re the one who found him?”

I nodded. “I always visit him after school.” I glanced up at Mom and Dad. “And not just for ice cream.”

Mom and Dad both smiled and wrapped their arms around me as the doctor said, “If more elderly had people regularly checking in on them, a lot more people could be saved.” She squeezed my shoulder. “Good job.”

“Can we see him?” Josephine asked.

“We’re still running more tests, so I’d say probably not until tomorrow at the soonest,” the doctor said. “He’s not conscious anyway, but I’ll make sure to have someone call you if he wakes up.”

It was getting late and we decided there was nothing we could do to help Henry by sitting in the waiting room, so we headed home. The four of us sat down at a table in the steakhouse for a late dinner. “I’ve known Henry a long time,” Josephine said, picking at her side salad (a new addition to the menu). “Longer than anyone. He’s strong. He’s going to pull through this.”

“There you all are,” Denise said, walking up to our table. “How’s Henry? We’re all so worried about him.”

“Too soon to tell,” Mom said. “But it was a minor stroke. The doctors are hopeful he’ll recover.”

“That’s good,” Denise said, wringing her hands. She didn’t look relieved at all. She kept glancing at me, then at our food, then at me. “I really hate to drop this on you right now,” she finally said. “But I’m sure you’d want to know.”

If this was more bad news, I didn’t think I could take it. And why was she looking at me?

“It’s Spaghetti.”

Everyone’s eyes shot to me as my stomach dropped out and my throat went completely dry. “I’m so sorry, Aven,” Denise said, her voice cracking, her eyes instantly filling. “I found him this evening after all the chaos.” She sniffled and wiped at her cheek. “He’s gone.”

I think there comes a point when your sadness gets too great that you can no longer feel anything at all. You just become numb. Because in that moment, I couldn’t possibly grieve for Henry and Spaghetti and my friendship with Zion and everything else going wrong in my life at the same time. I think I’d finally run out of tears. And I didn’t even know that was possible.